The Crimson King
by Stjernefald
Summary: The world has burned. And from the rubble emerged the Crimson King. A mysterious force that rivals even Ash, who seeks to wreck havoc and damnation upon people and Pokémon alike. Damned by the hand of Eternity, the Guardian must fight against corrupted enemies, clandestine plots, whilst combatting with the visions and Truths of the Dark Lord residing aside Life itself.


**Prologue – Believe the Lie**

* * *

Do I believe in God?

Well, do I?

Am I uniquely qualified to answer such a question – given my experiences? Past and present? Seen and unseen. Experienced and burned upon a world that moved by eons ago in search of a kinder kind.

Perhaps I did find Him. Once. In a life forgotten and remembered across the space of infinte, never-moving Time. Hidden by malice in the deepest vacuum of my psyche. Perhaps I found the will of Him too distasteful to truly face, to truly own up to. Too vile to truly submerge my scorched being in the shadow of his intent.

But no – in lieu of answering complex questions with more complexity, let me be concise. For once.

I don't believe in God.

Well. Alas.

At least, I don't believe in the God given to me by man. How could a man – a mere mortal, at that – see God for all his might? What makes the preacher any more knowledgeable of a beast beyond sight than the one being preach upon? The stage on which the preacher has placed himself is not a source of wisdom, but a weapon – like anything else manmade it always turns into a weapon in the end.

We cannot help it.

How can any man believe in a God that was build by one man to use as a stick to beat another one into submission? It is nothing more than that. Power. _He_ told _me_ to tell _you_ to give _me_ your _undying_ loyalty or else _His_ wrath will strike down unto _thee_!

You see?

Getting it?

But it is not the fickle whims of Chance at play here – not at all that. It is not merely the rules owed to us by human nature that tethers us to this mortal coil of sin. There must be something greater at large. Something slithers in-between the tiny cracks – the glimpses of the Truth – that reality cannot fully distort to an honestly broadened intellect.

But, and you best believe me, good sir, there's at least – at fucking least – one God in this wretched world. One Creature at top – laughing his fucking head off to the sounds of your cries. To the great, reverberating sounds of the human emptiness.

And trust me, meaningful happiness doesn't go hand-in-hand with meaningful insight. He dealt it like that. You see?

You understand?

Yes. At last. You actually might _see_. At least, partly.

Are you running yet? You should.

Not even Chance could concoct something as cruel as this world, as vile as the filth we have to wade through… just to get through the goddamn day – just to get tomorrow, too. This bane of existence that life has morphed into tethers me onto its will with a darkened leash. And the Dark Lord stands aside it all, looking in – quite like a voyeur – relishing in the suffering he sows with His every touch, His every notion, His every thought.

The genius of His nature is not that He has convinced everyone of his fakeness. No. That's child's play – even God can manage that. No. His genius is in delivering onto your mind an idea so ensnaring that you _have_ to believe it.

Acknowledging otherwise is to forfeit the right to life itself.

The Lie of Life…

 _Your life is your life. Don't let it be clubbed into dank submission. Be on the watch. There are ways out. There is a light… somewhere. It may not be much light, but… it beats the darkness. Be on the watch. The gods will offer you chances. Know them. Take them. You can't beat death, but_ _… you can beat death in life_ _… sometimes. And the more often you learn to do it, the more light there will be. Your life is your life. Know it_ _… while you have it. You are_ _marvelous. The gods wait to delight_ _… in_ you _._

Oh, what a great, wondrous lie. The Lie. You best believe the notion, for the truth – the _Truth_ – it won't set you free.

The Truth of Life…

 _Your life is not your life. You'll be clubbed into dank submission. There is no way out. No light vast enough to break through the walls of your own emptiness. There is a light. Oh… but there is a light… somewhere… where you cannot see. There's no chance but the one derived from the demonic nature He instills – in_ you _. Abide it! Bear its weight. You_ will _crumble. And the only way out is through the loophole that He shall provide, leading you into a damnation of your creation. You are wretched. And you're caught in the same nightmare – forever._

There's a being, good man, standing aside our world, looking in, joyful in the havoc He sows. He learned or… maybe even created – _Time_. Time to kill the things that God created for Him to kill.

He long ago defied the measures of space – as we perceive it.

He stands so far above our feeble sensory minds that we cannot comprehend his genius, his cruelty – much less understand his motives.

How the fuck could you even write down the words of such a creature? The will of it! No man, no matter how selfish, would dare to invoke the forces of such a God in their own name, if they truly knew and understood with the intimacy that I do, the extend of his boundless wrath.

But can we truly blame them? For creating a false God. Maybe religion wasn't simply a stick with which to beat the fellow man with. Maybe that wasn't the intention at all. Maybe they were decent men, doing indecent things in the name of decency, meddling with forces that exceeded their capacity to understand. One can hope. Maybe at the core of it all, it was a means of escape from the acidly nature of life. Maybe life was more tolerable if they convinced themselves that good deeds would be rewarded in the Worlds beyond the World. That gods waited for them, delighted in their uniqueness, and were proud of their kindness…

What utter, nonsensical nonsense!

If there truly is something behind the veil of our eyes – something greater than merely Chance – then it cannot be inherently good. It cannot care for our simple moralities.

Our morals are too fragile, too… whimsical. Nurtured more by the oppressive opinions of the masses than any sense of individuality you may possess.

What do you do, man? In the face of overwhelming odds, what can you do?

Own up to it. All there is left of it. Seize the small measure of control you can muster and overcome as much adversity in it as you can conquer. Make the light greater than it was before you so that it may one day be vast enough to shine upon a fortunate soul – even if it never did shine upon your sorry ass.

Don't become bitter. For God sake don't, please. It will only please His gaze to see you fall to His level, His Will. Don't let the hardships, the sheer unfairness of it all… don't let it get to you. Rise.

Rise above it.

Act as if God exist. Best advice I ever heard. Act as if He exist – with all His benevolence looking down upon the good deeds that you commit. Act like it – even if you do not believe it – _at all_.

And – should you ever happen upon the Truth of life – do _not_ acknowledge it for even a second.

It may very well be the last thing you ever do.

Believe the Lie. Believe it. Live it.

You're not strong enough to handle the Truth.

After all, only the Guardian can walk in such hollow paths.


End file.
